


catch me when i fall

by volunteer_of_hufflepuff



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: 3x17 Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Divergence, Descriptions of Canon-Typical Downworld Discrimination, Downworld Politics, M/M, Magnus Bane-centric, Soul Sword Fix It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:20:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26172595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/volunteer_of_hufflepuff/pseuds/volunteer_of_hufflepuff
Summary: When Magnus Bane walks into Alec Lightwood's office on one frosty fall night, fresh from a conference about a particular world-destroying lie-detector, the Damocles sword doesn't drop onto their heads.Or: Robert Lightwood doesn’t tell Alec about the Soul Sword, and things change. Magnus and Alec stay together. Yet -.How much more does he have to lose - how much more does he have to suffer - before he’s finally left alone?In the perpetual, lonely silence filling his home, Magnus Bane falls to his knees, and cries.
Relationships: Magnus Bane & Catarina Loss, Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood
Comments: 18
Kudos: 122
Collections: Malec Discord Mini Bang 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello, and welcome to my 'i ignored the soul sword calamity by eliminating it from the storyline altogether' fic of malec canon divergence and still, despite the lack of break-up, chockablock full of magnus angst!
> 
> I hope you enjoy, and would like to thank my beta [Lyss](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyssa87) for all her hard work on this fic.
> 
> This fic was created for the Malec Discord Mini Bang 2020 hosted by the Malec Discord Server.

When Magnus walks through the hallowed halls of the Institute, hours after his trust in the Clave is further shattered, there are still faint hints of sunlight streaming through the stained-glass windows, almost ethereal.

Magnus cannot help but pause before he knocks on Alec’s door.

What if Alec knows?

What if Alec knows the Soul Sword never truly left Valentine’s possession?

Magnus very much does not want to open the door, doesn’t want his trust in Alec to be obliterated.

It’s unlikely, Alec promised total transparency, and yet -

What if - what if all those discussions of trust, of love and loyalty, paled in comparison to preserving Shadowhunter superiority -

Why did he ever think this - all this, dating and falling recklessly in love with a Shadowhunter, was a good idea?

He swallows, bracing himself for a shattered heart.

When the door swings open, Alec’s head is down, buried in paperwork.

It’s a sight that yesterday made Magnus smile in fond exasperation. But, today, when the world has been tinted evermore darker, it drives in the dagger of fear and anger further, sharp as polished diamond. 

What if -

What if Alec _knows_?

Alec looks up at Magnus, fondness bleeding into his weariness.

He is so beautiful, the evening light falling against his face of sharp lines, against the warm hazel eyes that Magnus knows so intimately.

A Shadowhunter, a traditional enemy to his people -

Who Magnus is so, so desperately in love with, and cannot bear to lose.

Alec sighs, pinching his nose. “Please don’t say you’ve been waiting for me all this time.”

Magnus smiles, but it is tight. “No. Just wanted to see you.”

Alec leans forward, puts down whatever he was working on, and crosses his arms. “Is everything okay?”

Magnus slowly enters the room, twisting his fingers together in his only outward show of the anxiety suffocating him. “I thought so, but now I’m not so sure.”

Alec frowns, absentmindedly tapping his pen against his chin. “What’s going on?”

Luke’s words slide across Magnus’ heart, already so raw, so tender, like daggers. _Alec is Head of the Institute. He might already know._

Magnus should tread carefully. Yet, his fear is so great, and -

The words fall out of him, fast and heavy and angry.

“You tell me, Alexander. From the day I met you, the one thing I knew I can count on from you was honesty.” He tries and fails to keep his voice from trembling. “Absolute, total honesty.”

Alec’s look of utter bafflement is neither comforting nor alarming. “I’m sorry, what?”

Magnus presses on, for all he can see is the worst-case scenario. “The Soul Sword.”

The ensuing silence could not be cut by a diamond sword, thick and uncomfortable as it is.

“Is a terrible thing?” Alec says, filling the lingering silence with words that are awkward, clunky, with none of his usual smooth diplomatic charm.

He lifts his right hand - unconsciously, always unconsciously - and rubs at the back of his neck until it is slightly red.

Magnus sighs, sits down on the chair opposite Alec, almost collapsing into it. “So you don’t know.”

The relief is so great, so palpable, that Magnus could cry. He almost does, but then he stops himself.

Magnus does not have to choose between his people and his love and - and he has never been more relieved that he was wrong.

Alec doesn’t know - but he must know, now.

“Don’t know.” Panic, fear, is rising in Alec’s voice as if thorns are wrapping around him, growing tighter with every passing second of silence. “Don’t know what, Magnus? The Soul Sword has been deactivated and is now in the Clave’s possession, far from Valentine.”

Magnus wishes this conversation was unnecessary. But the Clave has only ever been good at setting the stage for the next catastrophe.

Magnus shakes his head. “That’s where you’re mistaken, Alexander. The Clave never retrieved the Soul Sword.”

His nails glitter in the low lamplight as he looks up, his face now alight with anger.

“Valentine has it.”

Alec stands up: his eyes burn with fury, contempt, like an avenging angel.

“I can’t believe the Clave is so corrupt,” Alec says, pacing back and forth a few times before coming to a standstill. “I mean, it’s not a well-kept secret. But this is horrendous, and knowing that my ancestors have propped up such a broken system for so long - it sickens me.”

“You are not like your ancestors,” Magnus says, softly. He cannot repress the simmering anger towards the Clave, but Alec, his love, cannot be allowed to become the target of that anger. “I believe you when you say that you didn’t know about the Soul Sword.” He swallows, closes his eyes, nearly biting his tongue. “You do understand the immensity of this transgression by the Clave?”

“Of course.” Though his eyes are closed, Magnus knows that Alec is still poised across the room, hands clasped behind his back. “I can.” Here his voice wobbles. “I can understand it, and I can support you, but at the end of the day I’m not a Downworlder, and I’m trying, I just.”

He sounds broken, shattered. 

Magnus opens his eyes.

“How can I help, how can I do anything, if I don’t know anything?”

The Clave - the Clave is not good. It is not a well-kept secret: it is one Magnus has known for centuries.

He can relate to the feeling of being caught like flies hanging in amber by the Clave’s lack of a backbone and discriminatory legislation.

But it is a fight that must be fought, no matter how hard.

“You don’t give up,” Magnus replies, with the ferocity of an eternal bonfire, “you never yield or put down your sword. I’ve been at this for centuries, Alec, believe me.”

“I know,” Alec counters, “Yet it happened under my jurisdiction.” His fingers dig into his hand. “I wasn’t Head at the time, but I was still very senior. I should’ve known.” He’s shaking: with fear or indignation, Magnus doesn’t know. “ _You_ should have known.”

Alec is shaking, trapped in a perpetual state of helplessness by the Clave’s wretched policies. Like glittering shards of diamond are cutting across his skin, and he cannot do anything but bleed.

Alec takes a deep breath. “I don’t know what I can do, Magnus. I’m one Shadowhunter operating in a broken system, and my position is precarious at best. But, _please_ , tell me what I can do.”

Magnus sighs. He wishes this wasn’t their burden to bear. “We need to inform all Downworlders worldwide. The Soul Sword is a weapon of mass destruction.”

Alec nods, almost fervently. “Yes, we do. It’s such an oversight on the Clave’s behalf,” he sighs, his shoulders hunching together, “that I feel so helpless, that all of the progress I’ve made will be undone overnight.”

“But all it takes for evil to triumph is for good people to do nothing,” Magnus replies, wearily.

Magnus is exhausted: centuries have passed, and yet humanity continues to meander back and forth, eliminating liberties previously won with hands steeped in the blood of the fallen: the Clave never learns, never improves, never considers the Downworld as having any inherent value of its own.

Alec Lightwood, for all the accomplished leader he is at 23, and however ardently Magnus loves him, is terribly _young_ , in the grand scheme of things, and therefore so awfully new to this wretched dance between the Clave and the Downworld, which always burns the latter.

Alec shakes his head, purses his lips. “But that’s not what matters. What matters is that we keep all Downworlders safe and stop Valentine.”

“It is,” Magnus says, reaching forward to hold Alec’s hand, to stop him from hurting himself needlessly. “It is, my love. And it won’t be easy, but at least we’ll be in it together.”

Valentine is a monster, and the Clave has been his enabler for far too long.

This will end, no matter how long Magnus has to fight.

He has to keep on telling himself that he will, one day, succeed.

Or else he may lose his grip on sanity altogether.

_._

What changes, to make a world so vastly different?

Often, it is the small things, the seemingly inconsequential things, that steer the world off or onto a rocky, perilous path.

In this world - well.

Robert Lightwood decides to not say something, to not confess something.

And it makes all the difference, in the end.

_._

_Yesterday, 7 o’clock: a night where Valentine reigns free, where the world is quickly and thoroughly going to shambles._

_And Robert Lightwood sits across from the chair he occupied for decades with his hands a dead weight in his lap._

_He is having a conversation with his son, Alec Lightwood - the Alec Lightwood who is the current Head of the New York Institute and the beloved boyfriend of the High Warlock of Brooklyn, Magnus Bane - and Alec is trying to find out what Robert is hiding._

_Robert lowers his voice. “The Clave is keeping a massive secret of their own. And I threatened to reveal it. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to have to carry the burden of lying to people that you love. I know how hard that can be.”_

_Alec sighs, clearly exasperated. “Dad, just tell me.”_

_In most worlds, Robert Lightwood cracks and tells his son the truth._

_In this world, he has a bit of a backbone. Not much, but enough to not put his son in such a sticky situation that it will destroy trust, lead to unnecessary death and carnage._

_Keeping the Head of the New York Institute oblivious of perhaps one of the Clave’s greatest lies yet? Might be the saving grace they need to defeat Valentine once and for all without breaking the hearts of Alec Lightwood and Magnus Bane._

_When Magnus Bane comes to confront Alec Lightwood about the Clave hiding that the Soul Sword is lost, Alec does not already know._

_And this - this, it changes everything._

.

After their discussion, they retreat back to Magnus’ loft. Well - Magnus does. Alec still has some loose ends to tie up back at the Institute.

He’d portalled back into his home straight from Alec’s office.

Magnus is so - so -

Tired.

He had been so scared, earlier, that Alec had known and had not told him - but he hadn’t, had been in the dark as much as the rest of them.

And isn’t that the sticking point?

Does nothing Magnus do ever matter? Is this just an endless cycle, of war and destruction and misery, no matter how hard he fights, how much he bleeds -

Magnus Bane, High Warlock of Brooklyn, stands alone in his living room and chokes a sob behind his hand.

He just wants - wants to live his life, without being in constant fear for it, without being told he’s _wrong_ or _twisted_ or a _monster_.

He wants to exist without strings attached.

But that’s not a freedom - a luxury - that has ever been granted to Magnus.

The Soul Sword - it had decimated the New York Downworlder population, last time: and now it’s been so callously revealed that it never left the hands of the genocidal maniac who set such immense destruction into motion.

Magnus is sick of the Clave - their belittling words, lack of transparency, and, often, blatant cruelty.

How much more does he have to lose - how much more does he have to suffer - before he’s finally left alone?

In the perpetual, lonely silence filling his home, Magnus Bane falls to his knees, and cries.

. 

It’s nearly midnight before Alec comes to the loft.

Magnus is far from asleep, staring listlessly at the flickering flames dancing up and down his arm, as his wards ripple to let Alec in.

“You up?” Alec calls out into the silent loft.

Magnus is now lying in his bedroom, with the door closed and black silken sheets pooling at his waist. He can’t sleep: he couldn’t even muster the energy to wipe away his make-up.

He could be dead, so many of his loved ones could be dead, in mere days because of the whims of a mad man.

And the Clave didn’t even have the decency to inform them of this - this devastating turn of events. Instead, they found out because a captive of Valentine managed to get the news out to her werewolf brother.

Magnus knows Alec cares, knows Alec is worried and wants to help, in whatever way he can.

But Magnus is too weary to respond.

“Well,” Alec continues, stifling a yawn, “I’ve organised for an emergency Cabinet meeting tomorrow evening at a neutral location, sent messages to Meliorn and Raphael before I left.” Another yawn. “S’why I’m back so late.”

Magnus’ glamour fell long ago: he can work out every crack and imperfection in the brick wall in front of him, even in the darkness.

Yet sleep is still out of reach: and talking is impossible.

“Alright,” Alec says, dropping to a whisper, “you must be asleep, then. I’ll go and sleep in the guest room for the night.”

There’s a muttered curse as Alec runs into something or other.

And then silence, but for Alec’s eventual snores, fills the loft once more.

Magnus still cannot sleep.

How can he, when his world hangs so perilously between survival and extinction?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [tumblr ](https://mirrorofliterature.tumblr.com/) | [twitter](https://twitter.com/mirroroflit)
> 
> all comments and kudos are always appreciated xx


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Diplomacy, and Magnus finally taking a break.

The role of messenger is not fun: Magnus spends the next day writing letter after letter, alerting warlocks everywhere of the great catastrophe that has befallen them once more.

Magnus sighs, places down his quill - a large peacock feather, a gift from Ragnor for his birthday in 1896 - and stretches, looking out at the sparkling New York skyline spilling out in front of him.

Wherever Magnus goes, trouble clings to him.

He closes his eyes for a second, tilts his head.

Opens his eyes - today is a day he cannot spare the energy to maintain his glamour, not with the critical diplomatic meeting waiting for him at the end of the day - and with ink-smudged hands, writes out another letter foretelling potential obliteration.

What a _lovely_ day.

.

Night has fallen by the time Magnus is opening a portal outside of a building with tall glass walls: thin shards that glitter, reflecting the light of a million rusted lamp posts.

The birds chirp, sing, as the door swings open and Magnus walks inside.

For the sake of neutrality, they have booked a private room nestled in the middle of Manhattan, which Magnus will be erecting privacy wards around.

They cannot take any chances.

Alec is waiting outside their room. They have booked out the whole floor, though they only need the one room overlooking Central Park, the leaves dancing in explosions of vibrant colour.

He’s dressed in a cobalt suit that fits awfully well, his tie worn impeccably - and yet.

All glamour and finesse in the world cannot distract Magnus from the weariness already lingering in Alec’s eyes.

“I’m glad you could make it,” Alec says, smiling: it’s thin - too thin, too small, too painted on. “Mr Bane, if you would make your way inside, please. Mr Santiago is already there.”

One man, bearing the burden of his whole people because of prejudice so ingrained it taints even Alec, who has tried so hard to fight off the old yoke. It’s not fair.

But on the outside, Magnus shakes Alec’s hand and walks inside.

Raphael is sitting down on a plastic grey chair that curves upwards, his ballpoint resting against a notepad. He looks up - so tired, so weary.

Aren’t they all?

“Magnus,” Raphael says, waving at the seat next to him, “please, sit, before we try to figure out how to get out of this mess, led by one of the only decent Shadowhunters.”

“I chose well,” Magnus replies, with forced brevity, before deflating. “I wish we weren’t here.”

Raphael smiles, bitterly, in the listless seconds before Meliorn, Luke and Alec join them. “Don’t we all?”

Magnus wants peace, prosperity. “I do.”

He doesn’t want to fight. But he has to, or else they will all be obliterated for the sin of mere existence.

.

Five leaders sit around a round table and try to figure out how to stop complete devastation and destruction.

It’s messy: five factions who are seldom used to cooperation. Yet, they must persist.

Centuries of prejudice are seeped into the Clave itself, facilitating the Circle’s rise. But now, they must defeat the pressing evil, and work to coax out the rot at the heart of the Shadow World more gradually.

“As you know,” Alec says, shuffling some papers in front of him - either critical records on the Soul Sword’s properties or lines of Latin practice to calm Alec’s nerves, Magnus cannot tell which -, “there has been a serious breach on the Clave’s behalf by claiming that the Soul Sword was retrieved. As revealed by Mr Garroway’s sister, this is unfortunately not the case.”

Alec puts the papers down, looking each of them in the eye with an almost unnerving weight. “I will do everything I can to help rectify this mistake - and rest assured, if I had been informed of the truth, I would have told you.”

“What pretty words,” Meliorn says, with a slight drawl. “Are we supposed to believe that your beloved Clave left you in the dark?”

Alec sighs, pinching his nose.

Magnus cuts in, “He’s telling the truth, Meliorn. I told him personally.”

The scepticism hasn’t faded from Meliorn’s eyes, but he would be a fool to challenge Magnus outright.

“Our main priority is keeping the Downworld safe,” Alec says, looking down at his now neat stack of pale yellow papers. “We have contacted a warlock renowned for their warding skills in hopes of replicating something similar to the Institute’s windows blocking the initial blast.”

“Thank you, Alec,” Luke says. “Any other suggestions to try and protect our people as soon as possible?”

“The Seelie Queen has organised a meeting that all local Downworld leaders are expected to attend tomorrow morning,” Meliorn says. He smirks at Alec. “She doesn’t think a Shadowhunter’s presence will be necessary, considering their lives are not in immediate danger.”

Raphael puts down his pen. “I will come at night.”

Meliorn nods, tilts his head. “Of course. Arrangements will be made.” 

“I will attend,” Magnus says, slowly, “as has been requested.”

He’s dragging his feet - but after centuries of living, he is weary of the Seelie Queen’s fickle lies. It would be nice if he could trust in her good faith. But he can’t.

The meeting ends. All up to date, all caught up in this crisis together.

Yet there is still much to be done.

. 

By the time they come back to the loft, it is late, the air bitterly cold.

And Magnus, once again, is drained, exhausted.

It’s a lot, to discuss and strategize on how to prevent the fucking extermination of your whole people.

It’s not the first time Magnus has had to deal with this. It likely won’t be the last.

But sleep is something that cannot be skipped, cannot be forgotten: nor can rest, lest his mind be fogged when he makes such critical decisions on behalf of his people.

It has also not skipped Alec’s mind that Magnus is weary: unlike last night, when Magnus wallowed in his misery, Alec is not allowing him to do so tonight.

When they get home - rather, as soon as they step through the front door after Alec insisted on paying for an Uber because ‘Magnus, no, you’re exhausted, shut up and get in’ - Alec takes off Magnus’ jacket before taking off his own.

Then, after tossing his own jacket thoughtlessly onto the couch and carefully hanging up Magnus’, he turns to Magnus with his phone already out. “Japanese or Italian?”

“Japanese,” Magnus says. He can’t be bothered to comment on Alec’s tender touches, his fierce care, underlined by a touch of aggressiveness as it is: Alec is not so gently forcing Magnus to put himself first, for once in his centuries-long existence.

As soon as the answer leaves Magnus’ lips, Alec is dialling the restaurant.

“You don’t need to do that,” Magnus insists, though it is weak, “I can summon the food.”

“No,” Alec says, firmly, “this is a shit show, and it affects you so much more than it does me. Let me take care of you, Magnus. Please.”

Magnus wonders if he can ever let himself be truly vulnerable, as Alec continues to break down his myriad of walls, one by one.

“Alright,” Magnus relents. “Our usual, then.”

Alec dials the restaurant, whilst shepherding Magnus towards the couch.

“I’m fine,” Magnus says, but he lets Alec gently push him onto the couch and drag a nearby blanket on top of him.

He remembers a brief if memorable conversation with Jace, shortly after the whole Soul Sword fiasco and when Alec couldn’t be dragged away from Izzy’s side, not for food nor water.

_ He gets like this _ , Jace had said, almost apologetically, as they had sat around the Institute trying to figure out how to deal with this whole mess,  _ like a frantic mother bear, won’t stop fussing for days. _

_ He wouldn’t stop punching Raphael when he first found out _ , Magnus had replied, drily.  _ I figured. _

Jace had squinted at him.  _ You haven’t been at the end of it yet, have you? _ His face had softened.  _ Don’t get annoyed with Alec. He can just be - a bit forceful with his affection sometimes, particularly when those he loves are hurt. _

Magnus snorts as Alec pulls away to place their order, keeping Magnus pinned under his gaze the whole while. This delightful display is undercut by Alec throwing the TV remote at him.

Yeah, Jace hadn’t been exaggerating.

Apparently, stumbling out of his room this morning, bleary-eyed and last night’s eye-shadow smudged down his cheek, was a sign that something was off.

Alec is starting to read Magnus like an open book, and Magnus doesn’t know if he should be delighted or terrified.

It’s not long until Alec puts down his phone and comes to sit down next to Magnus on the couch.

“So,” Alec says - and it is so soft, so tender, that it almost makes Magnus melt, “I thought you might want to watch something, to take your mind off everything. Unless there’s something else you want to do?”

Magnus is not sure, exactly, how to answer the question: he wants to obliterate Valentine, send every single Downworlder into a realm where Valentine can never touch them, work in some way on this dratted situation.

In true fashion, his own words come back to haunt him:  _ If you fail to grant time for the things you care about, you’ll forget why you’re even fighting at all. _

So he stops thinking of the shitstorm occurring outside his loft, if just for a moment.

“I’d like to watch something,” Magnus says, as Alec pulls Magnus in closer so that his head settles against Alec’s shoulder. “Big Hero 6, I think. It’s a good film - they have a problem, they work together to overcome it, and.” His voice breaks. “I just really want to watch something where the heroes win.”

“Alright,” Alec replies, softly, pressing a kiss to Magnus’ forehead. “I’ll put it on.”

And - for a few hours, embraced in the arms of his lover, Magnus allows himself to take a break from the whirlwind that has overtaken his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [tumblr ](https://mirrorofliterature.tumblr.com/) | [twitter](https://twitter.com/mirroroflit)
> 
> all comments and kudos are always appreciated xx


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Seelie Queen is perpetually unpleasant, and salvation comes.

Magnus does not trust the Seelie Queen any more than he trusts the dirt on the bottom of his shoe.

But she’s a powerful figure in the Downworld, so she must be heard out.

Even if she does talk a big game, says that she has the power to protect them all -

Well. Magnus has seen loved ones pierced by the Seelie Queen’s sword, sometimes metaphorically and sometimes literally, and he has no intention of doing so again.

Her eyes glitter, her hair is smooth, encircled by a ring of white lilies.

She may be the picture of innocence. But she’s ancient, and she’ll do anything to save her own skin.

She tilts her head to the side. “So the Clave lied and Valentine has the Sword. Is anyone surprised?”

“No,” Magnus responds. Dressed in his black coat with shining silver buttons, his back straight and face carefully blank, he’s fit to dine with the Queen. “But I think it must be noted that our local Shadowhunters were also kept out of the loop, and as was demonstrated by the prompt meeting last night with the Head of the New York Institute, are striving for complete transparency with the Downworld, as we assured you a few days ago.”

“With all due respect, Your Highness,” Luke adds, “we didn’t come here to start a war with the Shadowhunters. We came to seek protection against this abominable weapon of mass destruction.”

“I can grant all of the Downworld refuge in my realm,” she replies, tossing a gleaming red apple up and down, up and down. “But it will cost you power, ceding your authority to me so that we present a united front. And we may have to break with the Clave. They evidently cannot be trusted.”

 _But neither can you_ , Magnus thinks, watching the apple tumble down, _neither can you_.

“We will need some time to think on it,” Magnus says, carefully. “It’s a big decision to make.”

The Seelie Queen turns to him with a smile. It is all teeth: blinding white and sharp as daggers. “Don’t let your crush get in the way of protecting your people.”

 _Crush._ Now that ensnares his heart like a vine made of thorns: crush is so diminishing, so far from what he and Alec share. 

Also, she’s implying that he lets his feelings cloud his professional judgement which is. Not cool.

“I never do, Your Grace,” Magnus replies, with all the required propriety, his head tilted ever so slightly down.

The Seelie Queen sighs, chucking the apple onto the dark green foliage beneath her gilded throne, producing two bright crimson roses with a wave of her hand.

The Seelie Queen is a dangerous enemy: but she is no less troublesome of a friend.

“Decide quickly.” Another handwave and one rose is tucked into Magnus’ lapel and the other in Luke’s front pocket. “Once all the petals on this rose turn black… your time is up. And remember, those who don’t come to my side will be on the losing side.”

Seelies always dance the night away in heels soaked in blood to the winning side: victory, not loyalty, is always their priority.

Seelies always tell the truth.

But the truth is fickle.

“Thank you, Your Highness,” Luke says, as he and Magnus bow.

Magnus wishes that he could jump at the Seelie Queen’s offer: it is awfully tempting, keeping his people safe from more death and destruction.

Yet -

There is malice glittering in the Seelie Queen’s eyes.

If only life was easy: but it’s not. They’re stuck in the long fight, a fight Magnus can never escape.

.

He spends the rest of the day in correspondence with warlocks outside of New York: clarifying questions, outlining the specifics of the situation, stressing that they are working around the clock (whilst not sacrificing their sanity) to fix it.

And thanking those who have reached out with their support and advice.

Magnus would like to reduce his world-ending crises from once a century to none a century, please, particularly if they persistently keep on happening in his current place of residence.

It is three o’clock when his phone rings: he has answered all pressing correspondence.

So he picks it up and arranges a day-drinking bitching session with Catarina.

The world collapsing is the perfect time for such an occurrence, evidently.

.

Catarina and Magnus are sitting with half-drunken martinis in Magnus’ living room, with the blinds drawn: it is far past noon, the sun sparkling and the squirrels scampering up and down the trees.

Currently, Catarina is chiding him.

Well, providing advice, but it does come with a touch of condescension.

“Magnus,” Catarina says, with a raised eyebrow and a disapproving look.

“What,” Magnus says, as he tilts his glass to the side, watching the golden liquid swirl around, before putting it down. It’s not the most potent martini he’s ever had, but it’s up there. “What, am I supposed to just do nothing, leave my people vulnerable to Valentine, who - who could very well have the Soul Sword, which could destroy us, shatter our very world into oblivion?”

Catarina shakes her head. “No, Magnus. No one is asking you to do nothing. You have good relations with the werewolves, vampires, and even the Shadowhunters - don’t mess it up by siding with the Seelie Queen, of all people.”

“But they can offer us iron-clad protection,” Magnus argues, his grip tightening on the rose decaying in his right hand.

He can’t - he’s so tired -

He just wants it to be all over, to live his life without a genocidal maniac and all his crazed followers hanging over him.

Catarina sighs, takes in a deep breath. “Magnus, you are one of the most powerful warlocks in the world. I know you are terrified, but you do not have the authority to make a deal on behalf of all of the world’s warlocks. The Spiral Labyrinth would riot, and you would lose your position.”

“But I’m not making it on behalf of every warlock,” Magnus argues, “just the ones directly underneath my jurisdiction.”

Catarina looks at Magnus as if he is made of delicately spun glass. “You know that they won’t see it that way.”

A High Warlock, however powerful, making a deal with the leader of the Seelie realm: too dangerous, too slippery.

Magnus’ resolve, the fervour to protect his people at any cost, is being blindsided by the harsh reality of the infamous infidelity of the Seelie Queen.

“You already know that Adamas blocks the blast, right? Work with your allies to protect your warlocks your way, not by signing your allegiance away to someone who is as slippery as a fish.”

Magnus deflates with Catarina’s last argument, almost falling into himself. “I know you’re right, Cat.” His voice cracks. “It’s just - just so terrifying, this responsibility, the enormity of it all.”

“You have me,” Catarina says, softly, “you have Alec, Raphael, Luke. This is a fucking horrible situation, Magnus, and we need to hold the Clave accountable for hiding something of such weight, such seriousness, but this isn’t the way, us veering into the Seelie Queen’s hands.”

Magnus spins the blackening rose in his hands, puts it down. “I guess you’re right,” he says, quietly. “None of our allies, those in this city, have betrayed us. We know the Clave is corrupt, but things are finally changing, here in New York.”

“Alec would have told me if he had known,” Magnus whispers. The rose disappears in a whirl of smoke.

He puts down his whiskey glass.

“Where are you going?”

Magnus pulls on his burgundy blazer, the one with the crimson trim. “Going to meet with my boyfriend,” he says, “the Head of the New York Institute, in the professional capacity as the High Warlock of Brooklyn, to protect my people without sacrificing our autonomy.”

The Seelie Queen may be a temptress, but she is fickle.

Magnus will protect his people. But he’ll do it without dancing with the devil.

.

When Magnus walks into the Institute’s briefing room, Kitoko - a warlock who is renowned for their intricate understanding of the interaction of Shadowhunter and Downworld magic - is standing by Alec’s side, holding what looks like a small candle in their dark brown palm, their burnished golden claws curling across it.

“Evening, Magnus,” they nod, putting the candle-like object down, its copper casing glinting in the harsh artificial light of the Institute, offering their hand out to shake.

Magnus shakes their hand. “A pleasure, Kitoko. What brings you to the New York Institute?”

They shrug, running a claw around the edge of the candle idly. “Dot called me, said that there was a Downworld emergency.”

“The Soul Sword,” Magnus fills in, fiddling with his ear-cuff, “you look remarkably calm.”

Kitoko picks up the copper object again, satisfaction glinting in their gaze, a cool amber-brown like the splitting whirl of quartz. “Because I made this.”

They smile, but there is nothing warm about it.

“Which is?”

Kitoko presses it into his hand. “It’s an adjusted wardstone to project Adamas’ blocking capabilities, achieved through a small block of Adamas and a nifty warding spell of mine.”

“Wow,” Magnus says, and there is no hiding the shock washing over his face. “That is incredible, Kitoko. By blocking capabilities, do you mean…”

Hope soars - in Magnus, through Magnus, spilling into their broken world through the light now shining in his eyes.

“That it blocks the Soul Sword’s… how do I put it… less than desirable side effects?” Their smile widens. “Yes, it does.”

Alec, from where he has been standing across the table from Kitoko, his hair a ruffled mess and the bags under his eyes packing bags of their own, jumps in. “I’ve organised a meeting with the Inquisitor tonight so that we can spread this technology as quickly as possible across the world.” He smiles, and it is as unnerving as Kitoko’s. “Hiding the Soul Sword’s loss is particularly bad PR for the Clave. They are desperate to get even a sliver of the Downworld’s trust back.”

“Will you be here for the meeting?” Magnus asks Kitoko, handing them the wardstone back, but not before capturing its every nook and cranny with a small nifty spell of his own.

Kitoko nods, running a finger once more around the wardstone. “Of course. I’ll portal in just before - to settle my paycheck.”

“Which will be above and beyond,” Alec promises, stepping forward to shake Kitoko’s hand, “the whole Shadow World owes you a great debt, Kitoko.”

Kitoko - Kitoko, who grew up just before King Leopold’s rule and fought it off every step of the way with blood shining in their teeth - puts the wardstone back down onto the table. Their eyes glitter. “They do. And they won’t forget it.”

“Magnus,” Alec says, rubbing his eyes. He is so tired; Magnus wonders when he last took a break. “Could you please escort Kitoko to the exit? I have to go look over some demon alerts.”

“Alright,” Magnus says, walking a little closer to Alec so he can press a brief kiss to his lips, to say all the things he couldn’t - _I love you, please don’t wear yourself out to the brink of exhaustion_. He pulls away. “Stay safe.”

.

The Institute seems unusually quiet as they walk towards the exit.

“Well, Magnus,” Kitoko says, breaking the silence, clearly amused, “when I heard you were dating a Shadowhunter, I must admit I was sceptical, but I’ve been pleasantly surprised. You chose a good one.”

Alec has been working himself into the ground to try and unpick centuries of Clave prejudice: not always perfect, but he tries, and that is more than most other Shadowhunters Magnus has known.

Magnus’ eyes crinkle as he laughs, wearily, rubbing a hand against his face. “Rarer than achieving the American dream.” He sighs, his brow furrowing. “Really, Kitoko. I can’t thank you enough. Our only plausible option beforehand was the Seelie Queen’s word, and you know that’s no good.”

Kitoko stops, just before the exit, and places their hand gently, yet firmly, onto Magnus’ arm. “I’ll do anything to protect my people. It wasn’t awfully draining.”

Magnus smiles wanly. “So will I.”

But he’s glad that - for once - saving the world hasn’t fallen entirely onto his shoulders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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> 
> all comments and kudos are always appreciated xx


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Magnus cries, is taken care of, and toughens his resolve to say _au revoir_ to Valentine.

The night seems endless: drifting and dragging, ebbing and swaying, and yet it is only 7 o'clock.

He has caught up on his correspondence and alerted everyone of the invention: whilst he did that, Kitoko, Dot and Alec went around the city and distributed the wardstones, as Alec texted him almost as soon as Magnus returned home.

With the fate of the Downworld tentatively safe, Magnus should be able to relax, just a little.

But he's home alone as Alec wraps his meeting up with the Inquisitor. Home alone, and all he can think of, after such a wonderful discovery, is how perilously their world hangs by a thread.

He wants to cry, but he has no energy to. 

His phone rings, breaking the eternal silence of his loft.

_ 7:01. _

It's Catarina.

If it were anyone else, Magnus would let it ring out.

He's so… wrung out, so tired.

And this - this eternal marathon goes on and on and on, because people can't respect his right to simply exist.

But it's Catarina. His best friend.

And after Ragnor's death -

Oh,  _ Ragnor. _ His world hasn't stopped spinning for so long, he just -

Starts crying, bawling, at the mere thought.

Ragnor's  _ dead. _

Magnus will never see him again.

Oh, God -

He shakily swipes up on his phone.

"Magnus," Catarina says - not cheerfully, but with a touch of relief. "Kitoko's invention is wonderful. See what I meant? Our allies came through."

Magnus can't reply, his throat too choked up.

"Magnus?" Catarina asks, worry settling into her voice. "Magnus, you there?"

Magnus hiccups, tries to stop crying. Can't.

_ Ragnor's dead _ , Magnus thinks, _ died in his own house, and Magnus couldn’t do anything but watch - he's gone - _

He's normally a quiet crier. But - somehow, with the lives of everyone he loves no longer being thrown around by the whims of a man bent on their genocide - it makes him realise what Valentine has already taken from him.

Magnus' breaths are quickening. He thinks he may be having a panic attack.

Ragnor's dead. He’s dead dead  _ dead _ -

"Magnus," Catarina says, quietly. "I'm coming over."

The beep of a cut line.

The sharp smash of the shards of his wine glass scattering on his centuries-old Persian rug.

Which Ragnor had selected for him, with a wry smile on his lips.

He's really _ gone _ -

The silence - this endless silence - it is so  _ oppressive _ .

He's spiralling. He can't stop.

Because Ragnor -

He is dead, and -

Ragnor's death was something he didn't process immediately. Couldn't. It was too painful.

He'd thrown himself into saving the world, falling in love and working himself to the bone every day.

But now -

With nothing but the endless silence surrounding him, no immediate doom looming, he -

Catarina walks into his living room, still in her baby blue scrubs.

"Ragnor," Magnus choked out. "I started thinking - can't stop - he's gone forever, I don't want him to be, I can't -"

Catarina walks forward, wiping away a tear of her own.

"I can't believe he's gone too," she says, hugging him, tears dampening Magnus' shirt. "This hurts, Magnus. We're still here, we're still alive, and Valentine is going to be stopped."

Magnus laughs, weakly. "That bastard needs to pay."

"He will," Catarina promises, as Magnus closes his eyes, resting against her warm shoulder. "He will. And we will not forget Ragnor."

Magnus must fight. He cannot survive any more losses like this, any more gaping holes unwinding the very fabric of his soul.

Ragnor is dead. And Magnus will not let Valentine get away with it.

That is how Alec finds Magnus and Catarina, hours later: asleep on a deep golden Persian rug, tear tracks glittering on their faces.

.

When Magnus wakes, it is because Alec is gently shaking him.

The golden hour hand on the wall clock, bright against the charcoal background, is nearing nine.

“Magnus,” Alec says, as Magnus blinks blearily, “that is not good for your back.”

There are two steaming cups sitting on the couch next to Magnus’ head, the grey steam winding up and up.

When Magnus stays slumped against the couch, not speaking, Alec frowns.

“Magnus?” It is much gentler, this time. “You okay?”

Catarina, Magnus absentmindedly notes, is already awake, if not much. Sitting on the couch’s opposite side, clutching a cup in her hand, one with crisscrossing grey and white lines, staring out into the distance.

May as well stick them into a Victorian novel: if you took out their old clothes (Magnus’: Catarina donates to thrift stores regularly, Magnus hoards), added a symphony of singing violins and even thicker smoke swirling in the background along with the deafening clang of machines, the picture would be complete.

Like Ragnor’s Manchester apartment in the 1850s, cups of teas and reading Dickens by the waning firelight in contented silence -

Magnus looks away from Alec’s all too knowing gaze.

Alec sighs. “You two are clearly not okay.” A warm cup is pressed into Magnus’ hands. “I’ll go fetch Chairman.”

A kiss, feather-light - then silence.

.

When Alec comes back, Magnus is sitting next to Cat on the couch, her head resting on his shoulder, both mugs on the ground.

Both staring at nothing, both lost in grief they had held at bay for too long.

Alec places Chairman Meow gently into Magnus’ lap, bends down and picks up the two cups, places them onto Magnus’ oaken coffee table with golden veins.

Alec, then, sits down on the golden Persian rug.

The shattered glass is gone.

“Now,” Alec says. He’s lost his leather jacket, a woollen green jumper now hugging his body. “We wrapped up the meeting with Imogen and sent out the patent to Institutes’ worldwide, as you did for Warlocks.” He places one, gleaming copper, next to Magnus, then sighs. “Now that business is out of the way. What can I do for you?”

“Nothing,” Magnus says, losing himself in the rhythm of patting Chairman Meow, the soft glide, the warm body. He shrugs. “It’s.”

He hesitates.

Catarina looks at him, nods.

“Our best friend,” Magnus forces out: it is like speaking through concrete. “He died a few months ago. Ragnor Fell.”

“That’s awful,” Alec says, softly.

“Killed because he helped Joceyln,” Magnus says. His voice is hoarse, hollowed out. “Killed by Valentine.”

Alec nods, slowly. “I don’t know what I can do,” he begins, stops. His face is pinched. “Just tell me.”

Magnus doesn’t want to make any more demands. He’s already so wrung-out: he cannot bear letting any more of his soul slip through the cracks.

Catarina has no such prohibitions. “Be there for him,” she says. She rubs her hands over her face, sighs. “I should get back to Madzie.” She smiles, but it is brittle, fragile.

“My condolences.” Alec is looking at Catarina. “To both of you. It’s a great tragedy.” He closes his eyes. “Tell Madzie I said hi.”

“I will,” Catarina says, standing up, her portal swirling like wisps of golden caramel, burning bright. “Take care, Magnus.”

Then she is gone, and they are alone.

.

Magnus is still sitting on the couch, half an hour later.

A thick, grey woollen blanket has been thrown over his shoulders, Chairman Meow purring on his lap.

Alec, for his part, after putting on a film of Magnus’ choosing - Monster’s University - is clearly at a loss for what to do, so he’s cleaning Magnus’ kitchen.

Well, after he carefully, gently took Magnus’ make-up off, topped up his chamomile tea and sternly but fondly told Magnus to not hesitate to ask for anything he needed.

Magnus watches the monsters flicker past, in a wonder of animation.

Ragnor - Ragnor had taken both him and Catarina to an early showing of  _ Snow White _ : they’d laughed and drank the night away, in the smoke-heavy scent of a 1930s cinema.

Magnus - Magnus misses him so much.

The wardstone is cool in his palm, glinting copper in the low warm lamplight.

The Downworld is safe, for now.

Ragnor’s memory will be avenged.

And now -

Magnus breathes, in out, in out.

They’ll get through this.

Alec stops cleaning, sits down next to Magnus and drops a soft kiss on his forehead.

Together.

**Author's Note:**

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> 
> all comments and kudos are always appreciated xx


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